Monday, August 31, 2009

He said, she wished she'd said

Soo... let's set the scene a little bit. At around 2:00 pm, everyone stops working up front and either goes home or heads to the back to bake or do dishes or other useful things. It's my job to, then, stand behind the counter for the next two hours by myself. Therefore, if someone orders something it's my job to make it and take it to them and also to continue working at the counter.

I'm working this position today when a slightly post-middle-aged man comes in and orders a sandwich. I ring him up, take his money and go wash my hands and put on those God-awful plastic gloves from Lunch Lady Land. Halfway through making his sandwich he's back at the counter summoning me.

Guy: Miss? Miss? MISS. (I don't like being called "Miss" or "Ma'am" I'd much rather be referred to as, "'Scuse me.")
Me: [I turn around] I'm sorry, yes?
Guy: Do you have a local phone book?
Me: I'm sorry, I can't really hear you. [I walk closer]
Guy: Do you speak English? I said, "DO YOU HAVE A LOCAL PHONE-uh BOOOOOK-uh?"
Me: IIII'm sorry? I took your order, didn't I? We had a pretty decent conversation, didn't we? Do I HAVE an accent or dress like the native of some other country? You weren't a total a-hole 12 seconds ago! Sure, I'll get you one, but do you mind if I wait until I'm done making your sandwich so that I don't have to change my gloves?
Guy: *sigh* This really can't wait.
Me: Really? This can't wait for 90 whole seconds? Of course, I'll get that for you. [So I toss my lunch lady gloves into the garbage and grab a phone book from the back. I hand it to him and he takes it and goes back to his table.]
Three minutes later when I bring him his food, he's sitting there with the phone book open. He pulls out his cell phone and says, "What's the area code here?"
Me: So... Seeing the phone book couldn't wait for me to finish your food but making the phone call could? Really? It's 620, Sir. Have a great day.

I know this post doesn't demonstrate it well but it's important that you know that my attitude about/ during work has dramatically improved over the past week. I think it's that now that I'm working forty hours I know that my rent will be paid and I can overlook a lot knowing that I've got a roof over my head for the next thirty days. Also, I officially and legally have my very own space and that alone is absolutely liberating. This post just suits to be one of those must-get-it-out-of-my-system kind of things. Some people are, simply put, personal manifestations of nails on a chalkboard (or my personal aural nemesis--Styrofoam vs. Styrofoam).

Today, I love everything. Even that guy.

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